


Need

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reunions, Romance, Sleep, Sleep Sex, Sort Of, Vignette, home from a mission, kinda - not actually asleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22533091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Fresh back from a mission, what Harry and Eggsy need is a good night's sleep.That's perhaps not all they need.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 158





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> One of those fics my brain just provides me more or less whole, and refuses to let me work on anything else until I put out into the world. Hope you enjoy!

Need

It could be three in the morning. Midnight. Midday. Three in the afternoon. It’s dark because they have black out blinds and they promised themselves this: 

Rest with no interruptions short of the apocalypse- and they’ve just averted one, they’re due a break; no alarms save for those their bodies insist on and even those have been snoozed as long as possible. Eggsy ate on the plane, shoveling greens and chicken into his face without tasting it but almost as though he could feel his body lapping up the fuel to make repairs, to make up for all the shit that’s happened to it in the last couple of months. And Harry the same, presumably, or whatever his equivalent is. That first desperate contact over video call.  _ You’re alive. I’m alive. It’s over. We did it.  _

What’s woken Eggsy this time isn’t his bladder or the headache he chucked a couple of ibuprofen at however long ago that was. It’s Harry.

Whole, healthy, safe in one piece Harry, whose wandering hand has just come to rest squarely on Eggsy’s junk.

_ “Mmm,”  _ murmurs Harry into the back of his neck, and well, Eggsy couldn’t agree more. It’s taking his brain a while to get with it but it’s all good, hot and formless under the covers as one of Harry’s knees nudges between his legs and parts them, his other hand finds its way under Eggsy’s vest and against his skin. 

There was no sex before bed. Tears, yes. Kisses, yes, but the fierce without heat sort, the sort that are a promise that love and gratitude and comfort in the contact had to come first: sex had waited months, it could wait til after a kip. 

Or maybe it can’t 

Eggsy wriggles back against him to show willing - maybe he could show a little more but he’s tired, still, groggy, torn by the urges and kind of hoping Harry will take it on himself to do something with that fucking raging erection he’s grinding into the back of Eggsy’s thigh… something that doesn’t involve moving much. It would be so nice to just lay still, almost half dreaming even though he’s pretty sure he’s awake now, and let Harry touch him, let Harry have any sort of pleasure that doesn’t involve Eggsy having to hold his own weight up, or move much…

But he wants it, now, Harry’s grasping hands and obvious arousal have turned him on before they’ve even woken him up properly and his cock is throbbing against the fabric of the pants he fell asleep in, hardening ready for… he doesn’t even know what yet. Doesn’t care, really.

He turns over, gently so as not to headbutt Harry in the jaw or knee him in that impressively straining bulge in his boxers. Sensible, not to sleep naked then, but Eggsy regrets it for the moment, wants to be wrapped up like this skin against skin, but Harry…

…appears to be asleep. He’s breathing heavy, lips apart, but his eyes are closed and he doesn’t react to Eggsy facing him not other than to tighten the cuddle on him almost reflexively, to press his cock now into the front of Eggsy’s thigh instead and Christ, he can feel a wet bit laying against his leg and it makes him ache.

“Babes?” He lays his lips to Harry’s, softly closes his mouth over Harry’s dry bottom lip. “Hey. Harry. You want-?”

Harry jerks against him suddenly, hands tightening. “ _ Eggs-“  _ he murmurs, sudden and desperate, his mouth going to Eggsy’s jaw, wet and uncoordinated and electric-thrilling how clumsy and wanting he is, still dead to the world, almost feverish although Eggsy checks and he’s no hotter than he’d expect from being hard and horny and pressed up against another body under a duvet. Harry fully writhes against him then, head tipping back. “ _ Oh fuck,  _ Eggsy.”

_ He’s dreaming about me  _ and it’s sparkling, delirious; a bloody good job, given the circumstances, that it it Eggsy’s name on Harry’s lips as he rubs against him, dreaming so sweetly… and ironic, somehow, how that creates such a deep and burning need in Eggsy, whatever Harry is already enjoying on the other side of the veil of sleep, is millimetres from having but just  _ will not  _ be woken enough to take even though it’s right in front of him…

“Fucking hell” Eggsy breathes to no one, fighting his own vest over his head without sitting up; fidgeting the front of Harry’s t-shirt up so that at least the sleep-slackness of Harry’s belly is pressing against bare skin; the weight of Harry’s arms sticking to Eggsy's flesh as he gives up and feels himself slipping helplessly back into sleep.

***

Eggsy is the first thing Harry wants when he wakes, the first thing he needs to see. 

He’s a model, standing under the shower with his back to the door. Arms up, fingertips rubbing suds through his hair; foamy trickles coursing freely over the rapids of his trapezoids. Running into the small of his back, gathering to spill over the round of his arse, or down the dents of muscle either side. 

It doesn’t matter. He could be formless, ruined; dirtied in ways Harry doesn’t need to reel off to know they wouldn’t deter him in the slightest. Eggsy is not his beautiful face, his breathtaking body: either, both could be unrecognisable and Harry would need him just the same.

He doesn’t need to tell him. Eggsy might know, from the time, from the hunger in Harry’s hands; he might not, it doesn’t matter now. What matters is the breath that suggests a laugh as Harry steps onto the tiles behind him. The twist of his mouth into half a smile as he turns to say something clever and doesn’t get to because Harry consumes his mouth in a kiss.

If it’s like anything it’s like being waterboarded, the shower pounding down on his head whilst all his senses are drowned in Eggsy until Harry’s shaky breath through his nose is almost insignificant. He needs it less than he needs Eggsy’s tongue in his mouth, the feel of his slippery hard body under the driving water. Warm. So warm and pliable, backing into the wall when Harry pushes not with his hands but with the weight of his chest, arms coming up to cling around Harry’s neck, nails in the soaked fabric of his shirt.

He’s still got a shirt on, Harry realises then, and cotton trunks, ridiculous wringing wet and plastered to every aching inch of his body, hot cold, slippery and strange against Eggsy’s naked form but that doesn’t matter now. He just needs Eggsy breathing hard into his mouth as he strokes him; his sighs heavy against Harry’s lips; moans thick in the back of his nose as though the bliss is a surprise to him, as though he didn't know he needed it but Harry knows what he needs.

Like this Harry doesn’t ask for Eggsy, doesn’t talk, doesn’t ask what will settle the debt of getting to have him. He’s pink and awestruck, lust struck, Harry owns him like this, his body cornered and willing, his need throbbing against Harry's palm and it doesn't last, it can't; Eggsy cries out in climax and breathes as though he hasn't for minutes, as though he's been drowning.

Harry doesn't need to come now. He's aroused - pulse hammering with it - but a master of his body, of waiting for something more worthy later on. Eggsy's orgasm sobers him a bit. Enough to shake the fever from his mind and strip his sopping clothes off, finally, and reach around Eggsy's panting, weary form for the shower gel. He has no real idea how long they've been asleep but Eggsy looks like a few more hours wouldn't do him any harm, if Harry can get him to dry off and come back to bed. It's the first time he's got to look at him up close, properly, in months and Harry's not as bothered by the inventory of bruises and stitches as he is sated by just the shape of him, the pure correctness of the space Eggsy takes up in Harry's proximity being taken up by its rightful owner, bleary and wet as he might be. He's close and that's all Harry needs. 

“You’re disgustingly beautiful.”

Eggsy - still pink around the eyes and slow, wary - kisses him, makes that first true connection now that the haze is lifting. 

“Fucking good morning to you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Your hearts and feedback as always are hugely appreciated. You can also find me on tumblr, @randomactsofviolence, and on twitter, @agentsnakebite . I'd love to hear from you.


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